


Mulberry Skies for Miles

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Romance, Anniversary, Boats and Ships, Dean feels guilty, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Guilty Dean Winchester, M/M, Ocean, Poetic, Sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: "Dean, we live in one'a the most beautiful states in the continental US,” he states. “2,677 lakes, 228 miles of coastline, 65 lighthouses, and 42 parks, and you chose a dock a couple blocks from our house." Benny pauses to look out at the dark, open sea again. It winks back at him. "Not that I'm complainin’, of course - it's a beautiful view. Livin’ in the forest has its perks. But why here?”





	Mulberry Skies for Miles

**Author's Note:**

> It's. Been. Over. A. Year. Since. I've. Written. A. Denny.  
> Just plain unacceptable.  
> That being said, I think this makes up for my tardiness.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, this will probably be my last fic before I celebrate Christmas - so Happy Holidays to whatever you celebrate. <3

“Just a couple more steps.”

“You said that twenty steps ago,” Benny retorts. He has a pretty good guess where he is, judging by the hollow sound his boot makes when his right foot hits against an opening, nearly causing him to fall. “Dean, this isn’t what I meant when I said I had a dream’a flyin’!” he laughs. “You’re supposed’ta be guidin’ me!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean says, patting his back for good measure (probably because he’s grinning, the little shit) before returning his hands to Benny’s shoulders. “One more step and… okay, you can take off the blindfold.”

Benny reaches around to untie the handkerchief, exposing his eyes to the cold, and nope, they don’t even have to adjust to know what he’s looking at. He’s spent nearly a quarter of his life here. Even the water rushes up to greet him, splashing against the dock as a gentle wind brushes against his face. Many nights in the past, he’d be as far out as where the sky fades to pastel blue. Though he has a feeling they’ll stay close to the dock tonight, going by the yacht parked on the water.

A pair of strong, familiar arms wrap around his middle. “Happy anniversary, baby,” Dean whispers in his ear.

 

 

They’re enjoying a quiet dinner over the moonlit water (pizza—because Dean is classy as always) when Benny casts his eyes to his partner. "Why here?"

Dean sets his pepperoni slice down and chews slower as he responds, "What do you mean?"

"Dean, we live in one'a the most beautiful states in the continental US,” he states. “2,677 lakes, 228 miles of coastline, 65 lighthouses, and 42 parks, and you chose a dock a couple blocks from our house." Benny pauses to look out at the dark, open sea again. It winks back at him. "Not that I'm complainin’, of course - it's a beautiful view. Livin’ in the forest has its perks. But why here?”

Nothing gets past Benny when it comes to Maine. Though his hometown is a small, rural town in Louisiana, Benny found refuge in Maine while on vacation with his then-fiancée Andrea. It’s hard not to fall in love with the state. Though the humidity can sometimes creep up your skin like a carpenter ant, the summers are relatively cool and the winters even cooler.

Even more is the landscape is ripped straight from one of Thomas Kinkade’s canvases. Sunrises made from rubbings of paper fans for the sun’s rays, cutting through the most beautiful violet blues and nightlight yellows, and, in the evenings, when the rubbing fades, painted over with soft strokes of mulberry purple.

Unfortunately, not all paints are so easily preserved. Benny wanted to stay in Maine and Andrea wanted to go back to Louisiana, so, like two rain-heavy clouds joining from opposite sides of the earth, they clashed before their ultimate deluge. Soon, Benny’s skies began to fade to daffodils and lilacs—which, nothing is necessarily wrong with those colors, they just don’t hold the same enthusiasm. Benny became disenchanted with love.

That is, until he met a man who put a color in his sky he didn’t think possible: Emerald green.

Dean Winchester gave him the color that gives him air to breathe, and, moreover, gave him a purpose again.

And now those same emerald green eyes are shifting to the floor of the boat. “I don’t know,” he says, broad, flannel-clad shoulders sagging as he swallows more than a lump of greasy pizza. “I just… feel guilty, I guess.”

Benny tilts his head in question. “’Bout what, Cher?”

Dean closes his eyes and grinds his law, like his tongue is the ocean and he’s trying to stop the current. That’s the thing about Dean: He tries to control the traffic of nature, only to get squashed like a fly hitting the windshield of a passing car. “I wanted to get you back out here,” he says. “You know, because this was your life. Sailing the high seas, catching fish, living on your own time… before you gave it up for me.”

Benny can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You really think sailing was Life’a Riley?”

“Well… yeah.”

Benny roars a laugh, which, by the looks of Dean’s wide eyes, isn’t the reaction he was expecting, "Sure I miss being out on the ocean, and the smell'a conifer and cottonwood in the spring,” Benny replies. "But somethin’ was missin’ long before that. I couldn't figure out what it was until I met you."

“Really?” Dean asks, unconvinced as he absently thumbs the label on his Blue Moon. “You don’t ever think about going back to it? Of dropping domesticity to hit the open sea again?”

“You mean do I ever think about bein’ surrounded by dozens of dead, beady little eyes again on my way to a bathroom as tight around as Christopher Nolan’s scarf?”

That manages a small smile from Dean. “You’ve been quoting Batman references since—”

“Since our third date when you practically begged me’ta see _The Dark Knight.”_

“So you’re saying you don’t miss any of it?”

Benny shakes his head with a throaty scoff, “Dean, don’t you get it? I didn’t give anything up for you. I _chose_ to trade the life I had for the one I have now—an’ let me tell you, it’s a pretty good trade. I have a mailbox, a front lawn, a bathroom fit for a private concert—I mean have you _heard_ the acoustics in there? I feel like I can out-jazz Tony Bennett on a good day.” He grabs Dean’s hands. Dean squeezes them when their eyes meet, like an anchor afraid of falling too deep into the ocean. “Best of all, I get to share it with my best friend.”

Dean’s grassy eyes start to dew. A shaky laugh escapes him as he remarks, “You really love bathrooms.”

“Good bathrooms are hard’ta find.”

“Did you just compare me to a _shitter?”_ Dean laughs even harder now.

Benny laughs too, and for a moment, just sips on the sight like well-aged wine: Dean’s head thrown back, exposing ripples where ginger brown stubble moves north along the coastline of his neck, sending the signal to his lighthouse—his mouth, bright with a line of white teeth. He’s beautiful this way, when his sea isn’t burdened by the weight of passing cargo ships.

“Well, when you talk enough _bullshit_ , _”_ he replies once Dean’s laughter has died down. He makes a point intertwining Dean’s newly looser fingers with his. “I love you.”

Dean smiles, bringing their fingers to Benny’s face. “I love you too,” he says, kissing him softly.

Though he's long since left his sailing days behind him, Benny opts for them to spend the rest of the night in their rented headquarters, tangled in each other’s arms.


End file.
